I Should Mean More.
Matthew stood on Francis' doorstep, waiting. He wasn't waiting for France; not yet anyways. He had yet to even ring the doorbell. The many different things going through his head prevented him from realizing that since he was already here, all the way across the ocean, that there was no turning back.
The Canadian rang the doorbell and took a step back. 'There is no turning back,' he thought to himself.
The door opened to reveal France, surprised yet seemingly happy to see the younger man there. "Mon petit Matthieu! I wasn't expecting you! Come in, come in," the Frenchman led the Canadian into the house with an enthusiasm that could only belong to him. "T-thank you, Francis," Matthew said in his usual quite voice.
Francis led the younger man to the sofa in the sitting area. "Have a seat, Matthieu. Is there anything I can get you? A glass of wine perhaps?" Francis asked, motioning towards his own glass sitting on the coffee table. "No thank you. I, uh, kind of need to talk to you," the Canadian stared at the ground as he spoke, seemingly afraid to meet the older mans eyes.
"Anything for you, mon petit ange."
The Canadian blushed and opened his mouth to speak, only to find himself lacking the words he so desperately wanted to say. Francis simply sat next to him on to sofa, patiently waiting Matthew to gain confidence.
"Well, there are a couple things I need to tell you. Uh, I'm sure you'll be okay with the first, because you are a very open and accepting person. So I guess I'll just get this out of the way first; Francis, I'm, uh, gay," Matthew knew he was rambling, but it was the only way that he could speak when he was embarrassed.
The Frenchman smiled softly at the Canadian. "I figured as much, Matthieu." "I-is it really that obvious?" Matthew asked, taking his glasses off and playing with them as a distraction. "Probably not to others, mon petit ange. However, since I am closer to you I just notice things that other people don't seem to notice," Francis placed his hand on Matthew's knee, rubbing it slightly and then pulling away.
A slight blush adorned Matthew's pale cheeks, this was a little easier than he expected; so far anyways. "Now, you said there was more?" Francis asked.
"Y-yes. Francis, uh, we've known each other for a long time. You're one of my only friends, one of the few people that even acknowledge my existence, so I guess its only normal for me to be feeling this way, even though I do think that this isn't just a spur of the moment feeling. Well I guess what I am trying to say is that I like you Francis. Wait, no, I don't like you Francis; I love you and I have for some time. I understand now if you want me to leave bu-"
Matthew was cut off by a soft pair of lips against his own. The smallest of kisses, only lasting about three seconds, but conveying the answer that Matthew needed.
"Je t'aime, Matthieu," Francis said as he pulled only a few inches away from the Canadian's face. "R-really?" Matthew asked, his violet eyes meeting Francis' blue ones for the first time that day.
"Oui."
Matthew couldn't help himself, he moved himself closer to the older man and kissed him again. The kiss wasn't a passionate one, but simply Matthew's way of trying to convey his feelings.
"Matthieu, I want you to be my boyfriend," Francis said when the kiss was finished. "R-really?" Matthew stuttered, shocked that Francis wanted him. "Oui. You need to stop doubting yourself, mon petit ange," the Frenchman twined his fingers with those of the Canadian's.
Matthew blushed and looked down again, squeezing Francis' hand. "Is that a yes?" Francis asked, using his other hand to gently lift Matthew's face to his.
"Yes, Je t'aime Francis," Matthew kissed Francis softly.
Je t'aime, Matthieu."